Being Autistic Is Such An Weird Experience Because I Just Spent An Hour Fuming Around The Kitchen Making

What I thought working in a library would be like,

What it's really like,

What it's really really like,

Ballin' but at what cost?

My fucking spine that's what

Anyways, I was right.

I'm not googling this just to prove you wrong, Im googling this because you mentioned a topic I'm very interested in

I always knew I needed to keep a clear mind. It was helpful in every sense, but I found it so difficult to achieve, especially when I was conscious of my state of mind. I held my head in my hands, bent over with my elbows digging into my knees. The green park bench didn't help anything either, it was rough, uneven and uncomfortable. The air around me was cold but not harsh on my skin, and gentle winds tousled my hair and swept it to a side. The kindly breeze kept me company, I think it was the only things stopping me from crying.  I inhaled slowly, pushing my hair back with a hand. I closed my eyes and leaned back on the old bench, one of the planks dug into my back but I didn't mind. My head tilted towards the sky, I steadied myself. Slowly, like the forest waking from winter, I opened my eyes. The sky was a light gray, it wasnt unusual to see this sort of cloud cover, even early in spring. Unfortunately, the world told me it wasn't going to rain. I stay stilled for several moments, taking in everything. The smell of late winter, the taste of coffee still resting on my tongue, the sound of the winter rustling the bare limbs of trees. As I breathed, becoming one with my atmosphere, a small speck of white came into vision against the only slightly darker sky. It gently danced through the air and was quickly joined by friends like it. The snowflakes laughed like children and ran around, hopping, skipping and jumping as they descended down through the air, become calmly landing on my face and glasses. I smiled despite myself and previous mood, isn't it funny how quickly things can change? How quickly the walzt of snow fall turned into a slumber and blankets the world in white.

Good weather always brings out the best in my writing

Edgar Allan Poe

refseek.com

www.worldcat.org/

link.springer.com

http://bioline.org.br/

repec.org

science.gov

pdfdrive.com

I'm never sure if people believe me when I say I'm empathic because I can be quite the dink. But just look at me. I'm a doofus. I just put my large stuffed animals (whom I always sleep with) on the ground, gave em a pillow and wrapped em in a balnket.

I have now officially used tumblr (and YouTube comment sections) to build up my self confidence. I'm now half way between a cuck and a god, there is no better way to exist than now.

I love the fact that I’m using this cesspool of chaos and showers to build up my self confidence. 

do you think famous poets looked at what they wrote like an hour later and went, "yo this is kinda cringe-" or is that a new development in poetry?